


Socks; Sharp; Sense

by deutschtard



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:16:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschtard/pseuds/deutschtard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has asked Hannibal to look in on his dogs while he's away. Hannibal decides to look in on more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socks; Sharp; Sense

      He had been more than happy to come and feed Will’s dogs while he was away on a case. The FBI didn't need him, and he was perfectly happy to make the trip from Baltimore all the way to Wolf Trap. There were secrets lurking in that small town in the middle of nowhere, and he could smell them from here, permeating everything that Will owned, every piece of clothing stank with the rankness of things hidden, things never said aloud.

      The number of dogs in Will’s home did not surprise him, in fact, he was nearly surprised there weren't more of them. The satisfaction he felt as they gobbled up his homemade sausage made his heart beat ever-so-slightly faster, and now he was in the cave, the deep dark secrets were laying all around him, disguised in plain view as neuroses and peculiarities.

      The shirts and socks so neat, in fact almost everything was neat in his home, despite the disheveled look that Will frequently sported, he understood it clearly as a need to control the smaller things as the larger things began slipping through his fingers like unuttered phrases, unremembered dreams.

      The boat motor made his lip quirk in a smile. Will had mentioned his pastime with his father at one of their sessions, the need to cling to something so familiar was quaint in Hannibal’s eyes, and he wondered if the smell of grease, the feel of screws, were able to calm Will and ease the troubles plaguing his mind. The boating theme followed him as he turned to see a half-constructed fishing fly on a vise. He wondered how often Will took time out to fish, or if he simply manufactured the flys for the distraction. Pulling a fish off the hook, even the smallest creature, he imagined, could trigger Will’s unending empathy, especially as his skin was raw with the heinous crimes Uncle Jack forced him to endure, to look at, to relive both as killer and victim.

      It was then he spotted the last feather, the one he knew belonged on the fly, and he was seized by the necessity to finish it, his own ability to order things just as strong as Will’s—-though he had much more control over the bigger things than Agent Graham. He carefully wound the thread, tied it off, and dislodged it from the tying vise. The striped feathers reminded him of the lines in Will’s face, the fatigue he saw increasingly wearing away at the younger man. The point of the hook slid into his thumb easily, and he tasted the coppery blood from his own body. It was a taste of class in this unkempt burrow. He was energized, filled with much new knowledge of his new friend, and after making sure the dogs were fully seen to, he closed the door, exchanging the veritable hovel that reminded him somewhat of his parent’s cabin from his youth for the sleek lines and leather of his supercharged Bentley.

      Wherever Will was, even where the only creatures he could refer to as family slept and shat, there was a distinct lack of belonging that lay heavy in the air. Perhaps he would be able to give Will that camaraderie that he so desperately—but not outwardly—sought.


End file.
